Sticking To Illusions
by bierbaumchi
Summary: After the end of Season 5. He's been in the mental facility for a week, and he's getting worried about his own mental state.


"Why do you keep following me around?" Greg said tiredly, looking around. He knew this place well enough. He had visited it a few times too many, but only once before was it like this. A completely white bus, with a cut throat bitch sitting next to him.  
"Why do you keep seeing me?" she replied, playing his game. Though, this time, he wasn't playing a game. For once in his miserable life, Greg was actually serious. Too bad he was talking to a hallucination. Eventually he would wake up, he knew, so he had to take the chance before being woken up and given medicine. Greg sighed. "I'm trying to figure that out." he said, looking down. "You know the answer. It's something you've been avoiding to accept this whole time." Amber looked at him with a sincere look on his face. If she were alive he would scoff and insult her with a metaphor, then limp away. Greg stood up after this thought, enjoying the pain free experience. He wanted to suck up every minute of it. "Why after all these years of taking Vicodin am I only seeing you recently?" He said, pacing the length of the bus. "You're gonna miss this place aren't you?" she said, avoiding his question. Greg stopped and looked at her, nodded, then continued to pace. "I'm gonna miss being dependant on Vicodin too." He admitted in a quiet voice he normally didn't use. He sat down on the seat across from her, putting his chin on his fist. "But I'm not gonna miss you, cut throat bitch." He said, reverting back to his old, asshole self. "Not now. But eventually you'll stop seeing me. Until then, let's meet again, shall we?" she smiled, and the bus started slowly fading away, into the real world. Wait, what? Greg thought, looking around. Was he really on a bus now? Seemed real enough. It was moving. He could see the people's faces. He could hear the usual noises. The bus driver wasn't Asian and wasn't having a seizure. And Amber was nowhere in sight. Maybe I was just hallucinating. Or maybe I'm still hallucinating. God I hate confusion. Greg sighed and rested his head on the back of his seat. The seat got softer, the noises changed, the bus disappeared, and he was back in bed, where he was sleeping all along.

He was alone in his bed, no sounds at all other than his breathing. He kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore the ever so real pain in his leg. No way was he getting up and walking anytime soon. The pain was way more than he expected. This was why he had been dependant on the pills. For the first time, he wished he had decided to cut it off when he had the chance. Now I'm just being desperate. He thought. He knew he had to deal with it. There was no point in being weak now. He could live through this. He just had to ignore it, was all. So he shifted slightly and got comfortable with the silence. But it wasn't silent for long. There was a knock on his door, and before he could even muster "Go away," it opened and his personal attendant came in.  
"You have a visitor, Mr. House." Her name was Nicki, and her voice was way too happy all the time. He would rather listen to Amber whine. At least that would of sounded sexy. This girl was just grating on his ears every time she said "Time for your pills, Mr. House."  
Greg sighed and got up, looking at the clock. Eleven? Really? Wow. He pulled on a random shirt and and sweatpants, then walked out into the lobby. Only one person would have taken the time to waste their Saturday morning talking to him.  
Wilson sat in one of the not quite comfortable chairs, tapping his fingers on a nearby table and watching Greg walk over to him. Wilson noticed that Greg was leaning more of his weight on his cane, to the point where his palm turned white and the cane shook. There was a slight grimace on the doctor's face too. Wilson wished there were another way, but House did this to himself. "Is someone dying or are you just wasting your time?" Greg asked as he dropped himself into the chair next to him. "Just checking to see how you've been doing." Wilson said, not looking at his friend. Greg sighed and leaned his head back, actually wondering if he should be an asshole or not. He decided that this time it wasn't worth the effort. For this ten seconds at least. He'd see how his anger would come this time. "They finally decided I wasn't going to kill myself or anyone else. After three days of sitting in an isolation room pissing off everyone who came in, they finally got rid of me." Greg gave a half hearted grin. "No surprise there." Wilson said, noticing Greg was rubbing his thigh again. "They giving you anything for that?"  
"Naproxen, just a kick higher than Ibuprofen." Greg stopped rubbing his leg. "Can't wait to get my ass out of here." He muttered, leaning his head back again. "That won't be for a while." Wilson said softly, knowing it was torturing his friend to talk about his problems all day. There was a comfortable silence for a little bit, then Wilson asked another question. "Are you still seeing....."  
"Cut throat bitch? Yup." A look of annoyance crossed house's face. "Always glad to have a dead person as a friend at times like these." Wilson winced a little at the fact that House could say that so openly in front of him. He was still sensitive. Sometimes he would sit at home, stare at some cup or pillow of hers, and abruptly start crying. He didn't say any of this to him though. The nurse from earlier, Nicki, walked up and handed Greg his little cup of pills. Two Naproxen. Without hesitation House tipped the cup back and swallowed both of them without anything to drink, even though the nurse was handing him some water too. House Grabbed the water, muttered a thank you, and drank it slowly. "How long are they going to keep you here?" Wilson asked. House stared at the floor, thinking.  
"They guess a few months. Counseling, weaning me off the meds, that sort of stuff. A month at least. I'll try to be a good little boy so I can go home early. Get out of this god forsaken hell hole."  
"You say that like you don't care about yourself being here to get better. What about that day you freaked out?" Wilson was surprised that a grade A doctor wasn't about to accept some counseling. He needed this and he knew it!  
"It was a one day thing. I'll be fine. I haven't seen any other lipsticks around here." House grabbed his cane and made a move to get up, but Wilson stood up in front of him and shoved his fists in his pockets, trying to remain calm.  
"You're not even sure you slept with Cuddy. How can you be sure you're ok?"  
"Yes, how can you be sure?" That familiar voice said. House looked to his left. Amber was sitting right next to him, smiling.  
House sighed. "God can you leave me alone?" "No." Wilson said. "You're out of your mind and you know it."  
"Not you. Your deceased." Greg motioned his head to the left. Wilson couldn't say anything for a second. Once again, he tried to imagine seeing someone dead solidly sitting next to him. Nothing. A pang of sadness grabbed at his chest but he ignored it. "I'm not leaving you alone. Admit it, you need me." Amber leaned in closer to House and whispered in his ear. "We're not saving patients, and you're the one who wanted to kill Chase." House openly told his ghost friend. He was in a nut house. Talking to air was normal here.  
Wilson stared at House, his eyes bugging. "What?!" "You're the one who almost did it." Amber argued effectively. House chose to ignore her and look back to Wilson, and noticed his look. Like he was having a seizure, without the shaking. House refused to laugh. "It was minor. Amber said something about strawberry lotion on a stripper and I followed her advice. Chase licked the stripper's skin and had an allergic reaction." "Wow." Wilson said. "Now could you leave us alone?" House insisted, giving Wilson an annoyed look. Wilson stepped out of the way. "Amber knew, and you knew. So this illusion must be part of your mind." Wilson muttered, half to himself. House turned and gave him an "Are you serious?" look, but Wilson didn't see. House rolled his eyes. "It's a hallucination. Duh it's part of my mind, birdbrain. I thought you were a cancer doctor." House said. "Why is your mind splitting like this? You've been off the drugs for a week now." Wilson looked at him, concerned. House stopped, wondering the same thing. Wilson was right. He looked at Amber, still sitting there, still smiling. This was troubling. Very very troubling. "Only a week." House said in his usual asshole voice, ignoring these thoughts. "Not long enough. I'm still hacking up my guts all the time from the withdrawal. Give it some time." House turned to walk away. "Go get some sleep." He knew the panic was showing in his eyes. Something was very wrong here.


End file.
